#king tuft

He ran into the kitchen just in time to snatch his piece of toast away from his uncle’s open mouth.

The man let out a bellowing laugh, ruffling his nephew’s auburn locks as the boy took a seat. “Now, if only you raced down those steps for work with that speed, then we’d really be in business!”

Sam grinned along with him, taking a big bite of the raspberry preserves. He closed his eyes as the tangy sweetness hit the roof of his mouth, and he hummed in pure bliss.

“Oh, you let him alone, ‘Master Tailor,’ he’s a growing boy! And he sure knows how to appreciate good cooking, doesn’t he?”

Sam’s aunt peeked over her shoulder from the wash basin and sent the boy a wink. He took another bite of toast, replying with an enthusiastic, “Mmmph-hmm!”

The Master Tailor chuckled at his wife. He waved his fork at her, “Now hang on just a minute there, Nettle. What am I going to tell my brother next time he comes to visit? ‘Congratulations! I tutored Sam like you wanted, your son’s now an apprentice jam-eater’?”

Sam snorted into his milk glass.

“Ted!”

“I’m just saying!” The tailor raised his hands. He smiled at Sam. “Ah, but you’re showing a lot of promise these days, lad. I wouldn’t be surprised if you grew up as skilled with the thread as your father! Sigh… Shame he took all that talent with him when he moved away. Hylians just don’t appreciate the craft like we do in Hytopia!”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Eh? Oh! Sorry, Sam, I mean most Hylians.” The Master Tailor reached over to tug on one of Sam’s half-pointy ears. “Your mother has impeccable taste.”

Sam shoved him away, grinning, “You bet she does!”

The Master Tailor laughed and gathered the rest of the breakfast dishes. “Well then, better make those parents of yours proud and get cleaned up for work! Your cousins are already setting up shop, and those clothes won’t mend themselves. Hop to it!”

“Yes Sir!” Sam saluted, and he wolfed down the rest of his breakfast.

* * *

The family worked late into the afternoon, buzzing around like a hive of busy bees. Threads spun, needles glistened, and the steady sounds of Castle Town life filtered in through the open windows of the shop. The Master Tailor’s wife tweaked one of Sam’s ears and snuck a pastry into his hand as she passed. Strawberries and cream danced in his mouth, and his cheeks turned rosy. Not a bad day, he hummed to himself. Not a bad day at all.

By the hour just before dinner, Sam and his cousins were well into their deliveries for the day. The promise of his aunt’s cooking and a relaxing game by the fireplace put a skip in his step, and when his last delivery was completed, his feet shuffled quickly over the cobbled streets of Hytopia. His home—for it was just as much his home as Hyrule—sparkled in the golden twilight. The scents of bread and stew curled out of every window, filling the beautifully dressed townsfolk with warmth and cheer. And as Sam gazed proudly at the magnificent, gleaming stones of Hytopia’s Castle, he thought, not for the first time, how lucky he was to live in such a place of peace.

Funny how easy it is to be proven wrong.

The ground tore itself from beneath Sam’s feet. Massive tremors from some far-off explosion shot into Sam as he hit the road, and white hot pain flashed up his shoulder. His vision blurred, his ears screamed, and in the distance, he could just make out the deep, pulsating, purple clouds that seeped from the highest tower of the castle.

Sam’s stomach dropped.

That was the Princess’s tower.

And every Hytopian, even apprentice tailors, could recognize the electric buzz that fizzled in the air.

Cursed magic.

The glittering purple smog frothing from the princess’s window was enough to fill in the rest of the gaps. They’d all grown up with the stories, they’d all been warned, but until now it had all seemed like a fairy tale.

It was a tale no longer. Their dear Princess Styla had met with a terrible fate, and now it was clear to all…

The Witch of the Drablands had returned.

“Hey! Hey you, boy!”

The thumping of boots pulled Sam from his stupor. A castle guard hurried to his side, skidding to a stop and towering over the young boy on the ground. In a flash, the mountain of a man pulled Sam to his feet and clamped his huge hand over his shoulder.

“You’re the Master Tailor’s apprentice, aren’t you, boy? Well, aren’t you?!?”

Sam struggled to get his words out of his mouth. It didn’t help that the mustached guard was shaking him. The buttons and regalia on the man’s uniform suggested high status, and that wild brown hair… This must be the Captain of the Guard, Sir Combsly! Sam realized.

Being star-stricken didn’t help him speak, though, so he settled for a frantic nod.

Sir Combsly stopped shaking him immediately. Before Sam could regain his composure, the captain spun him around and pushed him towards the tailor shop.

“There’s no time to explain, boy! For the sake of our dear princess, mayhaps all Hytopia, go and fetch your Master! Bring him here with his finest magic equipment; there’s simply no time to lose! Go! Be swift!”

The captain’s hands felt like a wave crashing onto Sam’s back, launching him down the street at an incredible pace. And for several minutes, Sam felt like he was flying. Flying home to his aunt and uncle, flying through his account of the awful events, and flying back again with his uncle in tow.

Together they burst through the castle doors on the heels of Sir Combsly. Any other day, Sam would marvel at the splendor of the elegant halls, but now, his surroundings were little more than background noise. His mind was buzzing. The princess… what had happened to the princess?!?

They followed Combsly up a twisting staircase, the air still fuzzy with the curse’s discharge. It sent Sam’s hair standing on end. The closer they grew to the top, the thicker the air became, and the harder it was to breathe. Up and up they went until finally, all at once, the distinct sound of wailing pierced the suffocating silence.

Sam froze. No… that wasn’t good! His head raced with millions of explanations for the awful weeping, each thought more awful than the last. The idea of anyone hurt enough to wail was enough to twist his heart, and with gasping breaths, he slammed his hands to his ears. It didn’t drown it out. Why was this happening? Why was he even here? What on earth did they need a tailor for and why was the sobbing so loud –!

“-am? Sam!”

Warm hands came to rest over his, cupping his face. Sam cracked open his teary eyes just enough to see his uncle leaning before him. Slowly, he curled Sam’s hands into his own and lowered them from the boy’s ears.

“Sam. I know it’s frightening. I’m frightened too, see?”

Sam gulped and looked at how his uncle held him. The Master Tailor’s hands were large and calloused from needles, dwarfing Sam’s in size and experience. They were everything Sam aspired to be… and they were trembling.

“U-Uncle?”

He squeezed his nephew’s hands tighter. “Show some courage, son. The princess needs us, and we can’t let her down, even with the unknown staring us in the face. I’ll be right here with you the whole time, ok?”

Sam drew in a breath, not quite settling his thumping heart, but he steeling his nerves, nonetheless. He gave a small nod, too overwhelmed for words. His uncle tousled his red locks and took his hand again, leading him up and into the distant darkness.

The guards wouldn’t let them in at first, but a stern word from the Master Tailor was all it took for the guards to open the ornate door that led to the princess’s room.

The sight before them made Sam want to curl into his uncle’s side and never let go.

Princess Styla was screaming, her face red and beaded with tears as she clawed at the thing ensnaring her entire body. The material was tight, rubbery, and suffocating, twisting around Styla’s waist like a tortuous corset and binding her joints like a straitjacket. So great was her panic, she fought for breath. She writhed along the rug, tearing, pulling, shouting for the thing to “come off already, please somebody help me help me I can’t breathe! Father, get it off of me!”

But it would not obey her. The black python of a garment only seemed to tighten around her, refusing to release its victim. It shimmered in something akin to sick laughter as the princess collapsed into her father’s arms, gulping and sobbing. Her coughs were wet, and her sobs fell to whispers as she gave into exhaustion.

The king’s bloodshot eyes met the Master Tailor’s. “Please,” he begged, clutching his only child to his chest. “Please help her…”

Sam could do little more than watch as his uncle worked what magic he could. It wasn’t very much, in the end. The curse was strong, too strong for even a magic-enhanced sewing kit to break. But, by the end of the process, he had loosened the elastic just enough for Styla to breathe normally, and Sam counted that as a victory, however small.

The king set his now-sleeping child on her bed. He moved to brush back her fine, golden locks, only for his hand to meet the clinging friction of a bald cap. He choked back a sob and kissed her face, the only part of her left uncovered.

“I… I wish I could do more, your Majesty,” the Master Tailor murmured. “This magic… its staying power is beyond anything I’ve seen—”

The king held up a hand, and silence filled the room. His teary eyes wandered to Sam, then to where Sam once again grasped his uncle’s hand, and finally, to the tailor himself.

“I know you’ve done everything in your power, Tailor. If your boy there had been in my daughter’s place, I know in my heart you would have treated him with as much thoroughness.” The king’s lip quivered a moment longer before he steeled himself. “The fault does not lie with you. Nay, it is that accursed witch that should feel the consequences of this deed!”

More tears streamed down the king’s face. His fists shook, and with new, burning resolve, he addressed those in the room.

“Let this be marked down into the night, and spread across the realms of Hytopia and beyond: My daughter is in danger, and a witch must be brought to her knees. I send for heroes. I send for Hyrule’s Legendary Hero and heroes just like him, three souls to bear the Power, Wisdom, and Courage it will take to heal my child and fell the Lady of the Drablands. There will be dangers, but handsome rewards, and time is of the essence. Evil cannot prevail! Send to me: the Tri Force Heroes!”

The king swept his hand through the air, gesturing to the royal scribe. “Go forth! Deliver my message to all the mail services and sign crafters! Have it written in the sky, if you have to, but hurry! So sayeth I, King Tuft of Hytopia!”

The scribe bowed and pushed his way out of the room. No sooner than he had done so, the king’s bravado drained away, like a coat slipping off a hanger. In that moment, King Tuft was not a mighty ruler. He was simply an exhausted father.

Tears had begun to stream down his face again. “Go,” he said to the remaining guards and the tailors, his voice hollow. “We shall send for more tailors in the morning—even for Madame Couture, if she proves herself trustworthy, I—just… just leave us. Please.”

Salt ran into the corner of Sam’s mouth, and only now did he register that he’d been crying, too. His heart ached for the miserable king and his poor, cursed daughter. And yet, he could do nothing for them but take up space in the room.

A gentle tug and a murmur from his uncle led him away from the scene, but he couldn’t stop seeing the horror on the princess’s face. The screaming, the gasping, the tears, black tights ensnaring her… it all formed a constant loop in his mind. Over and over and over again…

“Sam?”

The boy blinked, realizing that they’d already made it outside the castle’s front entrance. “H-huh?”

His uncle threaded his hand through his nephew’s hair. “Are you ok, boy?”

“I…” Was he? No. How was anyone supposed to be ok after that? “I-I…”

Quiet sobs began pouring from his chest in the place of words, and immediately his uncle engulfed him in a hug. No words were needed, the closeness was enough. Sam buried himself into his shirt, shivering and gasping as time finally caught up with him. His knees buckled, but the burly tailor easily hoisted him up onto his back, and without another word, he carried him home.

The night air was cool along Sam’s skin as they moved, but the sky was dark, for it was long past dinner. Sam didn’t care. For once, he’d properly lost his appetite.

A few stars peaked out from the clouds above. From his view over his uncle’s shoulder, Sam recognized the constellation. It was his favorite: three stars standing as brothers, joining together to form The Hero’s Belt. Power, Wisdom, Courage…

Heroes.

Tri Force… Heroes…

A thought began brewing in the back of Sam’s head. A crazy thought, maybe. But it grew. With every step his uncle took, Sam only became more determined. He wasn’t anyone special, just a tailor’s apprentice, but of all the legends his mother had told him about Hyrule’s Heroes, when had that ever been a problem? The Hero of Legend had been an apple farmer. The hero who’d just saved Hyrule Castle not many months ago? Apprentice blacksmith. Heck, even the Hero of Time, the great knight who’d fought to the death for Hyrule, had come out of literal nowhere.

Yes, Sam wasn’t a hero. But he could train.

Princess Styla’s face flashed through his thoughts again, her fair skin flushed and her gentle eyes full of terror, and Sam made up his mind. He would fight. He would become a hero. Tomorrow, he would gather his things and offer himself to the knights, beg them to teach him their ways, and learn to use the magic within him for more than just tailoring.

He would wait for the other two heroes with a sword held high. For the safety of his family, for his town, for the kingdoms of Hytopia and Hyrule, and most importantly, for the innocent girl trapped in evil’s skin, he would do more than simply stand around.

And if, in the end, the only reward he received was seeing the princess smile, and seeing her father hold her tight? Just as his uncle held him now?

That didn’t sound bad.

That didn’t sound bad at all.

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Masterlist | Chapter 2: Blue

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